


A Study in Frustration

by kam



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kam/pseuds/kam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnlock written for the BBC Kink Meme Prompt:<br/>Sherlock and John are in love with each other, but John puts a lot of stock in the value of sexual intimacy in a relationship and Sherlock is uninterested in any sexual contact that goes beyond kissing and cuddling. Cue angst and self-deprecation on John's part for wanting something that Sherlock can't give and an unwillingness to find sexual fulfillment elsewhere despite Sherlock's permission to do so.</p><p>Up to the author whether it is a happy ending or not. The only unacceptable resolution is for John to eventually decide that he just doesn't need sex anymore because Sherlock is worth it. Preferably no non-con or dub-con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I feel that we should… Discuss this.”  
“Discuss…”  
“Sex.”  
“Oh.”  
It’s been three weeks. It’s not that I don’t think we should. It’s just. I know I’m not going to like what he says. So I’ve been putting it off.  
“Right. Go on, then.”  
“I know you tend to see romantic relationships as involving sex.”  
“As do most people.”  
“Yes. Well. I am… Willing to provide this for you, if it is truly important. However…”  
“Please, Sherlock, just say it.”  
“I would prefer not to. Not because I don’t find you attractive. I do. I just. I don’t. Do that, that is. I don’t want to. It does not appeal to me.”  
“Right.”  
“So.”  
“So basically, you’ll have sex with me even though you don’t want to, because you’re worried I won’t be satisfied with ‘us’ if you don’t?”  
“More or less.”  
“Sherlock, that’s really bad. I mean, even…”  
“Even for me?”  
“Well. Yeah. You’re not really great at this, you know? And that’s fine. It’s fine. It’s just… No. I’m not going to make you have sex with me if you don’t want to.”  
He sighs, rubbing his forehead.  
“On average, you have had partnered sex roughly once every two weeks for the past year. You expect me to believe you are comfortable giving that up?”  
“Well. It won’t be great. Not ideal. But no sex is better than sex with someone who doesn’t want it.”  
“You could find someone else.”  
“What? No. I want you, Sherlock, that’s the whole point of this.”  
“I meant for sex. You could find someone else to have sex with. Someone who wants to have sex with you. I understand this is now considered a viable relationship.”  
“No, Sherlock. I’m with you. I love you. That means I either have sex with you, or not at all.”  
“And that’s… Ok?”  
“It’ll have to be.”

 

It’s not. Really not. By any means. I mean. My libido isn’t what it was twenty years ago, but it’s still very much alive. And I want. I want Sherlock. I mean, he’s beautiful, and I love him, and I am relatively sure that it would be amazing. But I can’t… Do that, not to him. Not to anyone, I don’t think, but I know not to him. And I can’t ‘find someone else’, that’s really just ridiculous. Find who? A fuck buddy? A rent boy? I honestly believe he doesn’t even really think these things through. He just wants so badly to please me, to make sure I’m happy, because he doesn’t believe I will be. He can’t fathom that I’m happy just _having_ him. I can’t say how I’ll feel after a couple years of celibacy, but honestly, for now, just kissing him, being able to hold him while he sleeps, it’s enough.

 

It’s just not all I want.


	2. Chapter 2

“Your masturbatory habits have increased.”

“Yeah, ta, I hadn’t noticed.”

“You are not sexually fulfilled.”

“What do you want me to say, Sherlock? No, I’m not. Yes, I’ve been wanking more. Yes, I want to have sex. Ok. We both know that. You don’t need to keep bringing it up, it’s not helping.”

“I just… I want you to be happy, John.”

“I _am_ happy. I’m happy with you. You make me happy. Ok?”

“But you…”

I shut him up the only way I know how – with kisses, a dozen peppered across his face, relaxing him against the pillows.

“You’re more important than sex. Ok? I don’t like… _This_ , you know, but… I won’t ask for something you can’t give.”

 

He is. More important than sex, I mean. He is. Definitely. But. I don’t know. It’s been three months, now. Three months, and no one has touched me, and I _miss_ it. It’s not even the sex, it’s not… The orgasm, I guess is what I mean, that’s not the important part. It’s the _intimacy_. It’s being that close, being so bared to another person. The trust. And it’s not like Sherlock doesn’t trust me. I _know_ he does. I just want to feel that connection, and he isn’t giving it to me. And Christ, I feel like such a _shit_ , because _he_ doesn’t ask _me_ for things that I can’t give him, that he knows I can’t. It’s just this _one thing_ , and I can’t handle it. And what does that say about me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> masturbatory habits.
> 
> i have literally nothing else to say about this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

“What is sex like?”

“What?”

“I do wish you would refrain from asking empty questions in order to give yourself more time to process. I am capable of waiting for you to answer a question.”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes.”

“Sex is. Um. Jesus. It’s nice.”

“Brilliant, John, quite informative.”

He rolls over onto his stomach, resting his chin on his crossed arms and looking up at me.

“Please be more specific.”

“What do you want to know about it? I mean, are you asking what it _feels_ like? Or about the emotional aspect? _You_ be more specific.”

“Tell me anything you find relevant.”

“Christ. Alright. Um, there’s different kinds of sex, obviously, and they all feel different. Blowjobs are great, because they’re really warm and wet, but you also feel their tongue moving, and it’s on the underside, so it hits all the really sensitive parts. Also, they’re at an angle to use their hands, so they can… You know.”

“Manually stimulate your testes?”

“Yeah. Among other things.”

“What about vaginal sex?”

“Um, that’s got the same thing, it’s warm and wet and… Christ, I know that doesn’t _sound_ good, you can stop making that face, it’s actually amazing. You’ve just got to trust me on that. Anyway, so the difference is it’s _tighter_ , and that’s also good, and you can sort of set your own pace and go deeper, because you’re not gonna make her gag the way you would in her mouth.”

“I see. And anal sex?”

“It’s pretty similar, actually. Usually even tighter, and. Um. That’s about it. The only real difference is you can do that with a man or a woman.”

“So we would, theoretically, be engaging in anal sex?”

“Unless you’ve got a vagina you haven’t told me about.”

“And oral sex?”

“Theoretically. That usually comes first, actually.”

“I see. And what does anal sex feel like for the receptive partner?”

“I, uh… I don’t know. I haven’t… Ever. I’ve heard it’s good.”

Sherlock makes a derisive noise and rolls over again, resting an arm over his eyes. Processing.

“Uh, Sherlock? Why are you asking me this?”

“Data, John.”

 

It was, apparently, just for data. He doesn’t mention it again, and we keep on the way we have been – plenty of kissing, lots of cuddling, sleeping curled up together, and enough sexual frustration to power North London. It’s not that I don’t love what we do. Sherlock is perfectly content to spend _hours_ just kissing, and in a way, it’s nice, that it’s not building up to anything. Just focusing on the kissing. Spending a rainy morning in bed, kissing lazily, cuddling, without any pressure. It’s just, I don’t know how much longer I can take this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just.  
> like.  
> to be entirely honest, when you actually really think about sex.
> 
> oh my god.  
> why even would you?


	4. Chapter 4

He climbs into the shower with me one morning, and, completely deadpan, asks,

“Would you like me to manually stimulate you?”

“Give me a hand job, you mean?”

He wrinkles his nose and nods.

“No.”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to. We talked about this.”

“I do not find the idea particularly distasteful. I believe I would be able to tolerate it quite easily.”

“Sherlock, it’s not about you _tolerating_ it.”

“Then _what_ , precisely, is it about? Because I was under the impression that it was about _you_ ‘getting off’ with as little discomfort to me as possible.”

“You’re meant to enjoy it.”

“Giving _you_ a ‘hand job’? _How_?”

“You just… I guess you’re meant to get something out of making me feel good.”

“And indeed I would.”

“But…”

“Stop arguing, John, this is ridiculous. You’re wasting all the hot water and I sincerely doubt you would enjoy this half as much without it.”

 

It feels _amazing_ to have him touch me, inexperienced as he is, and it doesn’t take long at all, which he seems relieved about. He holds me afterwards, kissing my neck and shoulders, and it isn’t until we’ve left the shower and he’s gone back to his experiments that I’m overcome with guilt. Because _Christ_ , I shouldn’t have let him. Not after he told me how he felt about the whole thing. I let myself get carried away because it had been so long and I was _desperate_ but that’s no excuse. So, that’s the mood I go to work in, and, you know, it makes my six hour shift really awful.


	5. Chapter 5

“John, give me a 'blowjob'.”

“What?”

“Why do you insist on doing that?”

“I just… What?”

“Stop it.”

“Sherlock… _What_?”

He purses his lips and folds his arms, narrowing his eyes at me.

“I. Um. Christ. Why?”

“Because I asked you to.”

“But you don’t… You said you don’t _do_ that.”

“I don’t. Normally.”

“So tell me why you want to now. Because if this is just more about me being ‘sexually fulfilled,’ Sherlock, I’ll not have it.”

“I have never seen someone fight sexual gratification so hard.”

“Sherlock.”

He sighs heavily, rolling his eyes.

“I believe I owe this to you. No, don’t interrupt me. Not like that. Since we met, I have systematically found and crossed every single one of your boundaries. I made you run when you thought you couldn’t. I made you see things you thought you couldn’t. I made you question your sexuality, for God’s sake. In light of all that, I don’t see why I shouldn’t… Reevaluate my feelings on this particular issue.”

“But… Sherlock, you _knew_ I could do all those things. And. I mean, aside from the whole sexuality thing, none of them made me _uncomfortable_ , not really. I was never scared or, you know… It was just annoying.”

“As was sex, the last time I experimented with it. I am not _afraid_ of sex, John, despite what you seem to think. I have simply never seen the _point_. I still don’t. But I am willing to _try_ , if it is something that matters to you. It is… It’s like those stupid films you love.”

“Bond is not stupid!”

“I don’t particularly enjoy _them_ , but I enjoy watching them with _you_. So.”

 

Which is how Sherlock talks me into giving him a blowjob. Which I’d never done before, so I can’t imagine it’s particularly good, but… He seems pleased with it. Well, in a weird way, but that’s normal for him, I guess. He asks me to kneel on the floor while he sits on the bed, so he can watch, and he strokes my hair throughout. When I finish, he smiles and kisses me. He doesn’t offer to reciprocate, and I don’t ask, and he doesn’t comment on me disappearing to the toilet.


	6. Chapter 6

“I have decided that I am amenable to assisting you with your morning masturbation, on days we are both home and awake and I am not otherwise occupied with something of equal or greater importance, including but not limited to cases and experiments.”

“Sherlock, it’s generally best to make a sexual arrangement sound as _little_ like a business transaction as possible. Particularly when the other end of the arrangement hasn’t had his coffee yet.”

“Would you like me to assist you this morning, or not?”

“Christ, Sherlock. Yes, I would, but you don’t have to. Either way, I’d like my coffee now, so budge over.”

“I realize I don’t _have_ to, John, that’s why I’m _offering_ it. If I _had_ to, there would be no _point_ to me offering, it would be _redundant_.”

“Yeah, alright. Look, I’m about two seconds from punching you, would you _please_ move? I can’t make coffee with you standing right there.”

“Punching me would not be terribly conducive to getting me to help you masturbate.”

 

So this is suddenly part of our life – most mornings, Sherlock joins me in the shower and helps me with my morning wank. It is strange and wonderful and I, of course, want more. Naturally. Because it can’t be enough that he’s pushing himself, moving outside his normal boundaries for me, I have to have _more_. But his hands are long and thin and delicate but also clever, and his tongue is so pink when it pokes out between his lips, and _Christ_. What can I do but want?


	7. Chapter 7

He chose a Monday morning. I’m not sure why – maybe there’s no special significance – but I will always remember. It was a Monday.

“I have an erection.”

We’re in the shower.

“Um. Alright?”

He peels himself off of my back with a sigh and turns me to face him.

“ _Reciprocity_ , John.”

And suddenly I am on my knees and there is warm water pouring over my head and down my shoulders and Sherlock is saying things like,

“ _John_ ,”

and

“Yes, good,”

and little humming noises like

“Hmm,”

and all I can think is

 _‘But he doesn’t do this!_ ’

except clearly he does. With me, at least.

 

When it’s done he helps me clean my face and guides me out of the bath and into the bedroom. I don’t know why, as I’ve done it before, but I am in the single most pleasant form of shock I think has ever been known to man. I can hardly do anything more than follow his gentle touches, stepping first out of the tub, then shuffling through the hall and finally climbing onto the bed. He stands over me for a few moments, fingertips pressed together, considering. Just _considering_ , like he, the man who ‘doesn’t do that’ hadn’t just… Well. ‘Done that’, I suppose. If you will.


	8. Chapter 8

“I am beginning to understand your obsession with fornication, to a certain extent.”

“It’s not an obsession, Sherlock. It’s a biological imperative.”

“Fornication between two males fulfills no biological imperative.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t choose who you fall in love with.”

“Love is not a requirement for fornication.”

“You honestly _can’t_ just say, ‘Thanks, John, I enjoyed that,’ can you?”

“I could, if I so wished.”

I roll my eyes, and he sprawls out across the bed, making me climb in around him.

“You needn’t be so embarrassed about it all.”

“I’m not embarrassed! I just… I don’t want to… That is, I _want_ to, but I don’t want you to…”

“I am not averse to repeating this morning’s encounter, nor am I averse to expanding my field of knowledge in this area.”

“We can do it again, then.”

“Yes. That and other things. Try them, anyway.”

“But you don’t…”

“Enjoy sex with a partner whom I do not have a strong, neurochemical based bond with. I have that with you.”

“You love me, you mean.”

“You say tomato…”

 

I’m not entirely sure what to do with this. I mean, I want to just push on, of course, because the way this is going, it seems like it will end in sex, and soon. It’s just. It’s just that, despite everything he’s saying, I can’t believe that he suddenly magically wants to have sex. That he’s suddenly _interested_ in it. After everything. Because Sherlock doesn’t change his mind. _Ever_.


	9. Chapter 9

“Sherlock, what are you… Get off, stop it!”

“Mm, increased heart rate and respiration _could_ indicate that you’re serious – that your body has entered fight-or-flight – however…”

The blindfold he’s slipped over my eyes prevents me from _seeing_ what he’s doing, but it doesn’t stop me _feeling_ it.

“No, you’re not serious. You’re clever enough to have figured out my intentions and you’re aroused and… Ah, anxious. Anticipatory or fearful?”

“Both, you twat.”

“Brilliant,”

and I can _hear_ the smile.

“Right, come on, then,”

and he’s more or less lifting me out of my chair. Once I’m standing, he turns me around and leads me through the kitchen and into the bedroom. I know this, because once we’re there he pushes me down onto the bed.

“I understand it is customary, in situations such as this where consent is necessary but not always forthcoming, to decide upon a ‘safe’ word – the internet indicates that, as a moment ago, you may say no without truly meaning it – if this were the case, my stopping would be disappointing for both of us.”

“You are such a…”

“As such, I propose that we agree upon a word _now_ , in order to allow the rest of the evening to progress free of interruptions.”

I know he knows I’m glaring at him, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Fine. _Fine_. What word do you ‘propose’?”

“Cinnamon.”

“Why?”

“It is unlikely to come up during a sexual encounter, so there should be no confusion as to its utterance. It is also a particular favorite of mine.”

 

With that, he begins divesting me of my clothes, and I am just completely useless, I am of no help whatsoever. I want to be, I want to be out of these clothes as soon as possible, but all I can manage is lying on the bed, letting him unbutton my shirt and trousers, letting him tug me into a semi-sitting position so he can peel my vest away. Never let it be said that John ‘Three Continents’ Watson is anything but useless when confronted with Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, remember when Iwantthatcoat said sherlock gets off on power?  
> cause they were totally right.


	10. Chapter 10

“You are behaving less-than-helpfully.”

“I know.”

“I see.”

I am, by now, almost entirely naked, and Sherlock is looming over me, still fully dressed.

“Are you going to…”

“Not just yet, no.”

“Oh.”

He perches on the edge of the bed, regarding me intently.

“Touch yourself.”

“I…”

“ _Now_.”

Under normal circumstances, I would respond to such a direct order with a flippant remark or an all-purpose ‘piss off.’ These, however, are hardly normal circumstances, and there is an edge in his voice and maybe that is why I couldn’t stop myself if I tried, if I wanted to. Which, naturally, I don’t.

“Like this?”

“Harder. You must _commit_ , John, or nothing will ever come of it.”

I inhale sharply, taking a firmer grip on my already painfully hard cock, moving my hand slowly back and forth, catching on the head occasionally.

“Your testes,”

and with no more than that, my other hand is cupping my bollocks, squeezing gently.

“Now stop.”

His voice is slightly thicker than before, and when I don’t immediately remove my hands, he surges forward, catching my wrists and slamming them against the bed.

“I said _stop_.”

 

It seems, for long minutes, that he intends to punish me by leaving me. He maintains his grip on my wrists but otherwise doesn’t touch me at all. I am considering my options when I realise I’ve started begging, straining up against him, desperate for contact, for release, for _something_ , and his eyes are slightly glazed and he shifts, bringing his knee up to nestle between my thighs, giving me a taste of the friction I need. All I can manage is high, broken whimpers and little exhalations of, “God, yes,” and, “ _Please_ , Sherlock, _please_.” And honestly, if I’d known this was what he wanted, what he needed, I would have started months ago.


	11. Chapter 11

“Look at me. My eyes, John, look at my eyes. Don’t. Look. Away.”

Which is honestly the most difficult thing in the world right now, because his hand is moving, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, sometimes rough and sometimes gentle, hard or soft, and I have to fight every instinct to close my eyes, to surrender to the feelings he’s creating.

“If you look away, I will stop.”

“Please,”

which earns me a series of hard, fast strokes, and my hips are jumping uncontrollably, snapping up to meet his hand, begging.

“ _Eyes_ , John,”

and I force them open, though I can barely see, I can’t _focus_ , can only sort of make him out, looming above me, eyes gone dark, and when he licks his lips and then _bites_ , that’s all I can take and I’m gasping and shaking and I _can’t_ , I let my eyes slip closed.

 

His finger appears at my lips, and I open my mouth. My eyes snap back open at the taste of cum, and his eyes are the only thing that stop me from pulling back, from pushing his hand away. Instead I suckle gently at his fingers, feeling trapped and completely out of control and _God_ , but it’s amazing. A second finger joins the first, and then a third, and I realize too late what he’s doing but by this point I don’t _care_.


	12. Chapter 12

“Say yes.”

This is not, for the record, what I expected sex with Sherlock would turn out to be. I imagined, I suppose, taking control, leading him gently, showing him what to do… And being on top. I don’t know _why_ – in retrospect I should never have expected Sherlock to give up that kind of control. I realize that now.

“Say yes,”

and his eyes soften for a moment, there is a hint of concern, perhaps the tiniest inkling that I might _not_ , that I might refuse.

“ _Yes_ ,”

as if I could.

 

He presses into me in one smooth stroke, holding my wrists to the bed and pinning me down with his eyes in a way physical restraints never could. He nudges my thighs up, planting his knees to either side of my hips, and lets go of my wrists. Without a word, he slips the blindfold back in place, and I’ve barely begun to form a protest when he lays a finger against my lips. He whispers something in my ear, something that sounds vaguely like,

“No,”

and then my wrists are pinned above my head and he is moving, long, slow strokes punctuated with moments of stillness during which he leans down, kissing and nipping at my neck, occasionally whispering in my ear and I can barely piece together what he’s saying but it sounds like,

“Yes,”

and,

“Good, good,”

and then his other hand is around my throat. This is too much, this is frightening, and I begin to thrash about, perhaps with a half-formed idea of throwing him off, but his weight remains, holding me down, not pressing, not squeezing, simply _there_ , and I squirm and thrash until my fear has exhausted itself, and then I am still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suddenly breathplay.


	13. Chapter 13

“Sherlock,”

my voice is pleading in a way I have never heard it before, and I can feel him twitch inside of me at the sound of it.

“Sherlock, _please_ ,”

his hand tightens a tiny bit around my throat, testing. He’s barely restricting my breath at this point, his hand is simply a gentle pressure, simply the promise of,

“I _could_ ,”

and I am suddenly aware of my erection.

“Yes, John,”

and his voice is deep, deeper than I’ve heard it, and I am begging, pleading with breath that is slightly more difficult to draw, and then he begins to move again, faster, harder, using his hand around my throat as leverage.

“Beg, John,”

and I _am_ , I _am_ , I am fighting against his ever-constricting hand to draw in the breath I need to ask him to go faster, please, harder, God, _touch_ me, please, Sherlock, and I am strangely conscious of his breath, almost as heavy as mine is.

“Please, Sherlock, _please_ , _touch_ me, I _need_ it, please, _please_ ,”

and suddenly his breath is against my ear, hot and heavy as he whispers,

“ _No_ ,”

and I have _never_ felt anything like this before.

“I’m not going to touch you, John, and you’re going to cum anyway, John, you’re going to cum for me. You’re going to cum while I’m inside you, with my hand at your throat, while _I_ decide if you breathe or not. You’re going to cum for me, John, you’re going to.”

And that, honestly, is more than I can take.

 

I am vaguely aware that he is squeezing in time with me, that each time I twitch his hand tightens, that with each hot, wet splash across my stomach and chest he releases a tiny bit. I am barely conscious of the fact that he is still moving, but when his hand tightens again, harder than before, my eyes snap open and I realize he is cumming, gasping and panting in my ear, squeezing so tight that I am honestly struggling for breath. I feel my cock twitch, and if I hadn’t already gone twice I’m certain it would harden again.


	14. Chapter 14

He is the first to recover, naturally, and he kisses me gently and rolls off, snuggling close to me.

“Was that satisfactory?”

I use my now-free hands to remove the blindfold before turning over to look at him.

“I love you.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“Sherlock, I came twice. I haven’t done that since Uni. What do you think?”

“It is occasionally nice to hear.”

“Right, yeah, A+, Sherlock, more than satisfactory, would fuck again.”

He rolls his eyes and wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer and kissing my hair.

“I did not expect to enjoy it quite that much. I would be amenable to repeating the experience.”

“Some other time, yeah?”

“Naturally.”

 

We fell asleep that way, and when I woke up with the sheet stuck to my stomach, Sherlock laughed at me. True to his word, we did repeat the experience. Sherlock experimented a few times with masturbation, but he came to the conclusion that the process was entirely unenjoyable without me. Which is flattering, I guess. In a weird way.


End file.
